


Reorganization

by bzarcher



Series: Widow/Tracer Fics [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Arguably Amelie also dies, Betrayal, Does not end well., F/M, Gerard Dies, Kidnapping, Murder, Psychological Trauma, Talon - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 21:12:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8029135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bzarcher/pseuds/bzarcher
Summary: Everyone knows that Talon kidnapped Amélie Lacroix to create Widowmaker. But there is more to the story than what most believe.





	Reorganization

They’d taken Amélie while she had been shopping.

She’d taken a cab down to the _quai_ and gone into the Centre Beaugrenelle, looking for a few outfits for the vacation Gérard had proposed the night before.

The suggestion of taking a week and visiting Greece had surprised her, but she’d welcomed it. Over the last few months their marriage had become a strained thing, with Gérard off chasing Talon for weeks at a time, giving few answers about where he had been, and leaving their bed increasingly cold. Amélie had thrown herself into her work and her dancing, trying to fill her time and distract from her thoughts, but it wasn't as successful as she would have liked.

She didn’t think Gérard was having an affair – honestly, that would have been easy enough to address – but something was obviously wrong, and he was trying to keep it from her. It was frustrating.

She’d hoped that perhaps the time away would allow him to let go of whatever it was – perhaps to even confide in her so that she could at least share the burden of whatever was eating away at him.

Perhaps she’d gotten so wrapped up in those thoughts as she browsed through sun dresses and bathing suits that she had failed to notice the men and women who must have been following her.

Amélie realized something was wrong when a woman in a dark jacket had followed her to the changing rooms. She’d just taken a key to one of the stalls, a dress draped over her arm, when a hand had clapped over her mouth.

“ _Bonjour_ , Mme. Lacroix.”

Amélie had felt a sharp sting, and the world suddenly began to spin. Her legs had collapsed under her, and she vaguely heard the same woman who had addressed her call for help in a tone of false concern. She’d felt herself being moved, and had woken up for just a moment in what seemed to be the back of an ambulance before a pallid looking man in dark glasses placed a breathing mask over her face, and the world went dark once again.

* * *

When she woke again, the dress was gone. She was wearing a hospital gown, but she’d never seen a hospital room with featureless white walls. She was lying on a bench that seemed to have been seamlessly extruded from the floor, and her back and joints complained to her about having slept on such an unforgiving surface.

She knew from the moment she woke that she was a prisoner.

“I suppose it’s a good thing I took a taxi,” she mused out loud, “Gérard would be furious if I was taken _and_ the car had been impounded.”

She chuckled humorlessly at her own joke. She tried to remember some of the things she’d been taught during a few classes she’d been asked to take, after their marriage, about protecting herself should something like this happen. Little of it came to mind, unfortunately.

She wasn’t sure if she’d been sitting for minutes or hours when a seam opened in one wall, and a door opened with a soft hissing sound.

The man who came in looked…depressingly normal, really. A bit short, a tad overweight. Wearing a suit that she could tell had been bought from a rack, not properly tailored. His tie was loose and his chin had a few scruffy spots of stubble that his razor had obviously missed that morning.

He sat on the bench that faced hers as the door closed again, and made a few notes on a tablet before addressing her in English.

“Hello, Mrs. Lacroix. I apologize for the accommodations. I am here to ask you a few questions. If you cooperate, I believe we’ll be able to provide you with something a bit more comfortable.”

She kept silent. His accent seemed deliberately neutral – practiced, she supposed, so she wouldn’t have any clues about where she was being held. After a long silence, he spoke again:

“I have no personal desire to harm you, Mrs. Lacroix…but I am authorized to tell you that if you fail to comply, you can be made considerably…less comfortable.”

Amélie gave the plain little man a scathing look. “How delicately phrased.”

He actually smiled in reply. “I thought so myself. Perhaps we could begin?” She continued to glare, but he simply tapped a few times on his tablet before looking back up to address her.

“Your husband is Gérard Lacroix, yes?”

Amélie snorted. “Congratulations. You have demonstrated the ability to read the society page in the papers.”

Her interrogator nodded. “Your wedding did make quite the splash, didn’t it? Most impressive. I thought your dress was quite lovely.”

She didn’t quite know what to say to that. No matter how she taunted the little man, he simply continued on as if they were making conversation at a café. He didn’t seem to mind, though. Instead, he asked a question that was strange for its normalcy. “Did you enjoy your honeymoon?”

That caught her off guard. Perhaps it was the concerns she’d been mulling over before her abduction, but something in the way the question was asked made her look away. “I…it was good. We went to Monaco. I enjoyed diving on some of the wrecks near Monte Carlo, and we spent a bit of time in the casinos.”

She’d loved dressing up and showing herself off a bit while Gérard smoked and played baccarat or blackjack for a few hours each night. She thought he’d enjoyed the rather jealous glances they’d received from several men and women at the tables, and the possessive, hungry gleam in his eyes when they’d taken the elevator back up to their room had been the prelude to a night of fierce lovemaking.

Amélie couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked at her like that.

The interrogator asked something else, and she had to shake herself out of the memory. She looked back at the man, who made another note on that damned tablet before repeating himself.

“I had asked you if Gérard was a member of Overwatch.”

That got her anger back up. Such a stupid, obvious thing to ask. As if they didn’t know? As if that wasn’t why she was here?

“My husband is a soldier.”

That got a thoughtful ‘hm’, and another tap at the tablet.

“I understand he performs anti-terrorism operations for them. That’s quite dangerous, isn’t it?”

She gave the little man an icy look. “He is not permitted to discuss his work with me. I have gathered from some of his colleagues that he is quite skilled.”

Chew on that, you fat little lump.

“Do you think he will rescue you?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I am looking forward to it.”

The interrogator nodded, then put his tablet inside his suit jacket.

“I have one last question, Mrs. Lacroix: Do you love your husband?”

Why was he asking her these things? Amélie felt violated by what should have been a simple question. Problems in her marriage were no business of these people. They had no right to ask these things. They had no reason to know if she was happy, troubled, or sad.

The moment stretched, and she realized the little man was still waiting for an answer.

“Of course I do,” she answered, but she knew her doubts were plain on her face.

The door opened, and the man left without another word.

There was a hissing sound, and a scent of something clinical before the world went dark again.

* * *

Waking up again felt like trying to pull herself through a massive wad of cotton. It was dark – no – her eyes were covered. Why were her eyes covered?

She tried to raise a hand to her face, but a strap of some kind kept her arm from moving more than a few centimeters. It felt a bit like leather. Was she in a real hospital, now? Or was this just something new?

The more awareness she had of her body, she realized a needle was inserted into the arm she hadn’t attempted to move. Perhaps it was a hospital, then, if she was on an IV. But she didn’t hear the sound of any machinery, or of nurses moving to and fro. Shouldn’t someone else be here?

No – wait – voices. She could hear voices. One sounded so familiar…she strained, and could just barely understand.

“-never said anything about taking her!”

_Gérard?_

“You were concerned that your cover might be compromised. That Reyes had begun suggesting that Talon might have a mole within Overwatch. I believe we have rectified that problem.”

“That was NOT part of the agreement!”

“You have done an excellent job of helping us trim our dead weight, Gérard. But there are only so many cells we can compromise to keep you looking good. This establishes you as a credible threat to us in the eyes of Overwatch. Once you rescue your beloved wife from our clutches, your credentials will be impregnable.”

“…I understand. But you must promise not to hurt her.”

“Is that really so important?”

A long silence.

“I can assure you that we have no intention of causing Amélie any permanent harm.”

“ _D’accord._ ”

“Good. You will receive further instructions soon.”

There was a beep, and a few moments later she heard footsteps approaching.

“Oh, I see you’re awake.” The voice of her little interrogator was clearly recognizable now. “Did you happen to overhear that little exchange?” She tried to keep her expression neutral, but the clench of her jaw betrayed her. “That’s unfortunate, but don’t worry – we have great plans for you, Mrs. Lacroix.”

There was a rustle, and a moment later her arm felt as if a line of ants were marching through her veins.  The little man must have injected something into the IV. As the odd sensation spread, a strange feeling of lightness followed. Like her body was slowly disconnecting from her mind, the pain happening far, far away. Her breathing caught, and a moment later she knew why her eyes were covered.

Virtual reality goggles – or something much like them – assaulted her eyes with a riot of colors and patterns. She felt sick with vertigo as they began to pulse and swirl, feeling as if she was being yanked from the bed and spun through the air. The sensation worsened when someone lifted her head, then placed headphones over her ears. Sounds began to join the colors – sometimes in time with the patterns, sometimes not. Voices she could just barely strain to hear, but not discern words. Pulses of bass. Crashes and rolls, keeping her off balance, destroying any focus she might have managed to resist the attack.

Amélie didn’t know how long she existed in this hell, but she would swear she saw the pulsing patterns even as she passed out.

* * *

Amélie woke up in her cell. For some reason she didn’t expect that. Had she been somewhere else? Everything since that first interrogation was…blurry. The lights were still on – no indication of how much time had passed.

Somewhere in there, the door opened, and the little man entered again, this time carrying a tray of food.

She stood, intending to try to bowl him over while his hands were occupied and push past the door. As she started to move forward, the man spoke a single word:

“Theridiidae.”

Her mind went blank. Amélie stopped her charge and stood in an ‘at-ease’ stance, her eyes staring up and over the interrogator.

“Very good. I will be leaving food here for you. Please eat, then resume cover after 30 seconds.”

When Amélie replied, her voice was as flat and affectless, much like her captor's. “Understood and acknowledged.”

The interrogator smiled, set the tray on her bench, and left the room.

* * *

Amélie woke when she heard a crackling sound, followed by a deeper report. A wall shook, and a few moments later the door that had always slid open before was kicked in, taking a large chunk of the drywall with it.

She curled reflexively into a ball to protect herself, but slowly relaxed as she felt arms around her, warm and comforting.

“Shh, my love. It’s all right. It’s all right. _Votre cauchemar est terminé, mon chéri._ ”

“Gérard,” she gasped, and he held her a bit tighter. “Gérard, I love you, _je t’aime, je t’aime tellement!”_

How had she been worried for her marriage? Her husband had found her. He’d rescued her. She was safe and in his arms again, and she would never, ever leave.

He helped her up, and she saw he was wearing dark blue and black tactical gear. It was a different look for him – made him seem harder, sharper. She almost never saw him like this. He always did his best to leave his work at the barracks. It was a bit frightening and a bit sexy all at once, her mind scattered as he lead her out of what appeared to be a depressingly ordinary warehouse.

“Where are we?”

“You never left Paris. Someone’s idea of a bad joke.” She hugged him again before he sat her down on the back of an ambulance – a real ambulance! – draping a blanket over the thin hospital gown.

“Did they hurt you, Amé?”

“ _Non,”_ she shook her head. “No. Just questions…so many strange questions that I just didn’t know. I couldn’t tell them anything, but they just kept asking!”

Gérard stroked her cheek gently, his eyes tender. “Shh. It’s all right. It’s all right now. We just need to get you checked out by the doctor, and then we’ll go home.”

* * *

After she had been given a clean bill of health by Angela Ziegler, Gérard took her to Greece for a week, as they had planned.

It wasn’t right to say he seemed happier, after what had happened. Perhaps that he was more appreciative, and Amélie felt much the same. They spent their time on the beaches, visiting some of the ruins, enjoying the cuisine, and making love. If Gérard was bothered by her grasping tightly to him in the middle of the night, or irritated at having his sleep disturbed by her nightmares, he said nothing, merely held her close and did his best to soothe her until she was able to fall asleep.

They’d been back in Paris for three days when the phone rang. Gérard would be going back to Geneva the next morning, to resume his work against Talon. Amélie still felt a bit nervous about being alone for more than a few hours, but she’d made arrangements to meet with a few girlfriends for lunches over the next few days, and a cousin in Ribeauville had offered to host her down at his vineyard if she cared to visit. She would probably take him up on the suggestion.

Gérard had decided to take a nap after she’d surprised him in the shower, and she had been about to join him when she’d heard the soft trill. Wondering who it might be, she walked into the kitchen to answer.

“ _Allo?”_

”Latrodectus.”

Amélie froze. Her eyes emptied, her spine straightened. Her grip on the phone was like iron as the voice continued: “Reorganization has been approved. Activate.”

Widowmaker didn’t waste effort on nodding when she couldn’t be seen at the other end of the phone. “Acknowledged. Activating.”

She hung up the phone, then carefully opened one of the drawers in their kitchen. After moving away some old napkins, she unlatched the false bottom Gérard had shown Amélie, just after they’d moved in together, and removed the pistol hidden there. Widowmaker calmly ejected the magazine, confirmed it was fully loaded, then racked the slide and examined the chamber before slamming the ammunition back into place and loading the weapon.

Gérard mumbled softly, half asleep, as he felt her join him on the bed. His eyes didn’t open until she put her pillow over his face.

“Amé…?”

She placed the pistol’s barrel against the pillow, tapping his forehead lightly through the padding, and Gérard froze. When Widowmaker spoke, her voice was flat, with a cadence not her own.

“Talon would like to thank you for delivering this exceptional asset to us, Mr. Lacroix, but now we regret to inform you that your services are no longer required.”

Before Gérard could respond or react, Widowmaker stroked the trigger. The pillow muffled the shot adequately, while a riot of red and grey began to stain the bedsheets. She removed the pillow, confirmed the target was not breathing, and fired a second shot through his heart to ensure the kill.

Five minutes later, a woman who had once been Amélie Lacroix walked out onto the streets of Paris, and slid into the back seat of a sedan that had been waiting for her to arrive.

As the car pulled away from the curb, Widowmaker did not look back.

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another idea for a "short" drabble that grew into a full sized beastie. Ever since I heard Widowmaker's line to Ana that she knew nothing about Gerard, I loved the idea that maybe Gerard wasn't as much of an innocent victim as people thought.
> 
> Call it a touch of grey for what had been presented as black and white.


End file.
